Long Journey Home
by Lucrecia LeVrai
Summary: Albel was ordered to escort Arzei's future wife to Airyglyph. He's quite nonchalant about this task, but Nel has every reason to suspect that someone will try to assassinate the bride sooner or later. Postgame, AlbelxNel.
1. Doubts

Disclaimer: Can you imagine some Tri-Ace employees browsing through every single fic they find, searching for skipped disclaimers? No? My point, exactly.

Author's Notes: New Albel/Nel stories are unfortunately quite rare these days, so I hope you'll enjoy this one.

The first chapter was proofread by BlueTrillium, who is probably the most awesome beta out there, even though she's got one fatal flaw: she just refuses to update her own story. :) Please remember to visit her profile and complain about it, but first, have a quick look at what I have to offer. :)

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_Long Journey Home_

by Lucrecia LeVrai

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Albel Nox didn't care much about mere _insects_, so when a large bumblebee began to circle around his head, he lazily brushed it away with his artificial limb, completely unbothered by the bug's sting. His eyes never strayed from the book in his lap, though truth be told, he was already getting quite bored with it. He read on nevertheless, partially because the alternative was to sit with his arms folded and do nothing, and also because he knew that the opportunity wouldn't present itself again in the near future. After all, it wasn't everyday that he could—more like _had to_—spend almost a week in Aquios, treated like a precious guest and thus free to use the castle's vast library. He didn't find books very amusing, but at least it was a break from his usual routine.

In just a month and a half Lady Rozaria of Aquios would be wed to King Airyglyph XIII. The engagement party had already been held in Aquaria more than three months ago, but the main event, that is, the wedding itself, was to take place in Airyglyph. Albel's sole purpose for returning to Aquios at this time was to escort his future queen to her fiancé's homeland. It sounded like an easy, boring task, and unsurprisingly enough, the young knight had refused it at first, told the king to stop bothering him and send someone else. Unfortunately, Arzei had been adamant in his decision and Albel couldn't have just ignored a direct order, so he had found himself gathering his men and jumping into the saddle much sooner than expected.

When he had arrived at the capital city a week ago, he had hoped for a swift departure, but now it seemed that he would have to wait a couple more days. Since it was such an important, not to mention one-way journey for the High Priestess' daughter, everything had to be double-checked and organized down to the slightest detail. Albel cursed inwardly at the servants' slowness, but he forced himself to tolerate it without a single word of complaint. Arzei had specifically instructed him (time and time again) to act as courteously as possible, or at least _try_ not to be excessively rude, because the future of this marriage might well depend on it. Indeed, it would be rather disastrous if Aquaria suddenly decided to break the peace treaty due to some unfortunate comment from one of Airyglyph's highest-ranked, most influential nobles. Albel understood the possible consequences for his homeland, the king, and himself, therefore he kept his mouth shut, and instead of seeking to kill someone, he sought for effective ways to kill time, at least until everything was ready and he could finally leave this pathetic, peace-loving country behind. Not that he would find much to do at home, either, but from his point of view, anything was better than rotting in some boring palace garden with an equally boring book, waiting for the afternoon to come, so that he could at least venture into the southern part of the town and drink to his heart's content, unbothered by dozens of maggots whispering random things behind his back.

He was just about to turn another page, when he heard footsteps that sounded a bit too deliberate to belong to a random passer-by taking a stroll around the garden. Albel clenched his teeth in irritation. Surely the maids, guards and courtiers alike had already learned _not_ to approach him on their own without a _really_ valid reason, unless they completely lacked imagination and common sense? He waited for the footsteps to falter, not bothering to turn his head and see who was coming, let alone take his legs off the bench. They never did. Instead, barely a few moments later a low voice addressed him from the side.

"There you are, Albel. I've almost given up looking for you."

"Too bad you haven't," he muttered under his breath, instantly recognizing the speaker, even before he raised his eyes to confirm his suspicions. "Nel," he added out loud, acknowledging the woman's presence with a mere nod of his head. After everything they had been through, it seemed like the only passable greeting between them. They were no longer enemies to glare silently at each other, but neither were they regular acquaintances to follow the customs of court etiquette.

Well, if _Lady_ Zelpher was offended that _Lord_ Nox didn't even stand up from his bench to bow, she certainly didn't show her displeasure. She stopped a few feet to his left, unsmiling yet neutrally polite. Albel couldn't help but stare at her—he was still unused to this new Nel he had first seen but a week ago. Apparently, the royal wedding could turn even the simplest things upside down. The Crimson Blade wasn't clad in her revealing fighter's outfit anymore. She wore a green-white dress, definitely much more appropriate for a young woman of her social status, even though it didn't really _suit_ her, at least in Albel's opinion. He would rather see her showing off the intricate runological tattoos on her thighs, not an emerald necklace and a pair of matching earrings. She wasn't one of those air-headed ladies-in-waiting, after all, so she shouldn't have to look like one.

From the way Nel's right hand occasionally kept fumbling with the folds of her dress, Albel guessed she might feel quite uncomfortable in this fancy attire. He could almost sympathize with her, since he felt just as bad in his own clothes: a ridiculously delicate shirt and a black skirt embroidered in gold thread, with no slit to the side. Honestly, he felt that the material might tear, if he made but a single rapid movement in the wrong direction, and it irritated him to no end. Once again, he caught himself wishing the priestess' servants would hurry up with their job, because he would prefer _any_ number of days spent in the saddle to being stuck in the costume of courtier, even if it was all for the sake of the future wedding.

The awkward silence between the two warriors couldn't have lasted long, but Nel was already getting impatient with it. "Such a fine day to be outdoors, don't you think?" she said, craning her neck to look at the clear sky, dotted with a few tiny clouds.

"Great," Albel sighed mockingly, running a hand through his long, braided hair. "When I stay in the castle, everyone keeps bothering me, and when I leave, it gets even worse." She hadn't come here to talk about the _weather_, right? Was it really so difficult to understand he didn't enjoy small talk like this to the slightest degree?

"Don't tell me you were hiding here because you couldn't handle a civil conversation with one of the maidens," she teased him in her usual, calm voice, and he bristled.

"Not hiding. Just taking a break from all you maggots."

"And reading a book, too." _I'm surprised_, Nel wanted to add, but quickly held her tongue. She knew it was safe to mock this man a bit, in spite of his terrible reputation, but if she accidentally pushed him too far, he might become truly hostile and refuse to trade anything but spiteful insults with her. And since she still wanted to talk about a few serious matters, she had to remain courteous. Unfortunately, some of her disbelief must have found its way to her tone, for Albel's eyes, never too friendly to begin with, darkened even further.

"Are you, by any chance, trying to insult me?"

"No." She shrugged, unprovoked by his petty annoyance. "I simply thought you preferred different activities in your free time."

"It's too late for me to be training, and too early for drinking, if that's what you were implying."

"I had the latter in mind, I admit." Nel smiled at last, and it was a genuine smile, amused rather than disdainful. "You and your men haven't been doing much else ever since the day you arrived. So, is this book to your liking? And… oh…" She paused all of sudden, having finally noticed the cover, or more importantly, the title, printed across the brown leather in neat, golden letters. "It's… it's in Aquorian," she finished lamely, unable to conceal her confusion.

"So? Are these precious writings too sacred for me to see?" Albel raised an eyebrow, pretending to have no clue as to how interpret Nel's slip. He was torn between irritation and dry amusement, the latter based on seeing her brought down a peg or two, but in the end, irritation won by quite a large margin. The woman might as well have openly called him an illiterate moron, thus insulting his family name, among other things.

"No," Nel almost stuttered in reply. "No, I didn't mean anything of that sort. I… I just didn't know you could read in Aquorian." By now, she had realized the true effect of her words on Albel, and promptly snapped her mouth shut.

As if on cue, the dark-haired man growled, "And I didn't know you could look even more idiotic than you usually do." At this point, there was nothing but malice in his voice.

Nel's temper flared, of course, yet with no small effort she clenched her teeth, forcing herself to remain silent, with both hands folded neatly across her chest. If the remark she had just heard had been uttered by any other man, she would have already retaliated, perhaps even physically. She was, however, unwilling to turn this small _misunderstanding_ with Albel into a full-blown quarrel. During the past few months, in which she had been forced to fight alongside her new ally, Nel had learned two useful things. One was how to ignore the jerk's aggressive comments, if necessary. The other—that you didn't even have to take him too seriously in the majority of these situations. Albel kept belittling people as it made him feel better about his precious ego, and he wasn't particularly discriminating when it came to choosing his victims. Nearly everyone was a maggot or an idiot in his eyes, not because they _deserved_ that name, but because there appeared to be something wrong with the man himself.

Nel took a deep breath and slowly relaxed her shoulders, while her gaze never strayed too far from Albel's face. The point was, she didn't know the man very well—if she knew him at all, that is. She acknowledged that there was more to him than his 'wicked' reputation, but at the same time, he seemed more difficult to read than any book in Aquorian. And speaking of the volume in his lap, he shouldn't really blame her for acting so surprised when she had realized he could actually understand it. These days, three centuries since the Ancient Kingdom of Aquor had fallen apart, only the most socially backwater, geographically isolated communities in both Aquaria and Airyglyph still used the dying tongue of their shared ancestors. Only the nobles from both countries took the time to learn it as their second language, and the difference between them and the commoners was that they could read it rather than speak.

Fine, Nel thought, so it did make some sense in Albel's case, even if was hard to imagine him being schooled in something so different from the art of war. She wasn't exactly prejudiced against all Glyphians, but… Albel was Albel. Perhaps she had underestimated him yet again, it was a common mistake between the two of them.

Having finally calmed down enough to resume a normal conversation, Nel unfolded her arms and sighed. "…That was quite uncalled for," she said, glancing away from the man's face.

"Likewise," Albel replied, in a much more neutral tone. His anger had already faded, leaving him no more ill-tempered than usual. He still wished for the Aquarian to turn back and leave, but he no longer wanted to rip her to shreds—metaphorically speaking, _of course_.

Meanwhile, Nel kept looking at the garden bench. It was rather small, built to accommodate two or three people, and with the swordsman's long legs stretched out like this, it was impossible for anyone else to have a seat, unless they wished to sit in his lap.

"Albel." She stared pointedly at his steel-fitted boots. He faked utter nonchalance.

"What?"

"Don't be a bastard, _move_."

"Why, you want to sit down?"

Nel's green eyes narrowed a bit. "I'm _so _glad you asked."

"The pleasure is all yours, then," he answered, "because I sort of hoped you would _walk away _the moment you satisfied your curiosity."

If he had truly wanted her to go, he wouldn't have been so subtle about it, no doubt, so Nel assumed it was alright to continue. "I need to talk to you for a moment."

"About what? Books and weather?" Albel snorted, though at the same time he took his legs off the bench, and the red-haired warrior could finally sit down beside him. He would never admit it, of course, but her closeness made him feel a little bit uneasy, though for a different reason than one might expect. Nel's dress certainly showed a lot of cleavage, and he couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. He grunted and reluctantly averted his gaze, then made an effort not to stare at her… necklace… all the time.

"No," the Aquarian said, letting the mockery pass, no matter how irritating she found the man's attitude. She felt that if she stopped at her companion's every single taunt, she would never be able to get to the point with him. "It's about Lady Rozaria."

"What about her?" he asked casually, meeting the woman's eyes.

"Is she going to be safe, I wonder?"

"She wouldn't be safe on her own, which is why _I_ am here." Along with twenty armed maggots and the king's special emissary, but this number hardly meant anything, as long as he was the captain. Albel shrugged, already dismissing the issue as irrelevant, but Nel seemed far from finished, let alone satisfied.

"I'm not talking only about the journey." There was a scornful ring to her tone, and even more surprisingly, genuine anxiety hidden in her eyes, just below a layer of cool professionalism. "I know you and your knights are very much capable of protecting her on the road, from bandits and monsters alike. I'm more concerned about her safety after she reaches your city."

Even if Albel was taken aback by this blunt confession, or the amount of trust he had just been shown, he didn't choose to comment on it. The bored look on his face, however, had swiftly given way to a thoughtful frown. They were talking seriously now, raising issues that could never be raised in public: the true extent of their peace treaty.

"Do you have anything… _anyone_ specific on your mind?" he questioned in a low voice, deciding to play open cards as well. There was no need to pretend that everything was fine, because it sure as hell wasn't. The royal wedding appeared all beautiful on the surface, but in reality, it resembled a tricky mission rather than a joyous event, at least for those who were involved with security. Albel was quite aware of the fact that there were some people out there who would be happier if the ceremony didn't take place at all. He had a feeling that he would soon have to deal with a string of unpleasant surprises, but unfortunately, he had no idea what to expect, or from which direction a possible attack might come.

On the other hand, Nel was a spy, so maybe she knew something useful. He turned his crimson eyes to her face, frowning impatiently. Her answer was disappointing, though.

"No. Do you?" She shook her head and looked away, focusing solely on a tree in front of her. "I wish it all came down to simple list of names, but unfortunately, I know nothing, and it's confusing, to say the least. We both realize there are many who oppose the recent union between Aquaria and Airyglyph, and since the marriage is going to represent this union, it's most likely that some will fight to stop it, by all means necessary."

"By slaughtering the bride, if I were to believe your suggestion." Never the one to mince words, Albel shrugged, pretending to sound cold and indifferent. He didn't like what he had just heard, however, didn't like it _at all_. "On top of that, you seem to be assuming that the real danger awaits her in Airyglyph, even though traitors and conspirators can be found everywhere, in _your_ kingdom as well."

Nel threw her companion a sidelong glance, raising a hand to brush a loose strand of fiery hair off her face. "I didn't say that they had to be your people. In fact, I can just as easily imagine a group of Aquarians, plotting to assassinate Lady Rozaria a few days before the ceremony, so that the whole blame would be placed on you Glyphians, for murdering the bride with your own hands, or for being unable to protect her. Either way, the political consequences would be bad for us all. And right now, nothing is certain. Perhaps there is no conspiracy, or perhaps the conspirators won't have enough courage to act. It doesn't change the fact that I'm worried. My instincts tell me to be careful, and they have hardly ever failed me before."

"You could've spared me your long speech, woman. You needn't have confirmed your own incompetence." Albel leant forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, effortlessly ignoring the glare that had just been sent his way. "I don't know anything more than you do. I'm not even a member of your trade, so don't expect me to handle your affairs." He looked up. "My mission is to protect the priestess, until she passes through the capital's main gate, therefore she _will_ reach the city unscathed. What happens to her afterwards is none of my business."

"I can't believe you actually said something so stupid," Nel hissed in annoyance. "How can you be such a short-sighted fool?" It was one of the mildest adjectives to describe him, really. Sometimes he acted as if he had only half a brain, incapable of any insightful conclusions. And hell, if he thought he could scare her with his red glare right now, he was totally mistaken. "Don't you realize how the priestess' death may affect your country's future?"

Albel's voice sounded unnaturally cold, as he hissed back, "You know very well what I meant. I'll just leave politics to those who are interested in it."

The tension between the two had certainly reached a critical point, but then, a moment later, when it wasn't fueled by any other insults, it started to dissolve. It still took them a while to calm themselves, and for a few minutes the garden was silent, save for the little sounds made by birds and insects.

Nel's eyes became distant and unfocussed, as she began to stare ahead once again. Albel relaxed his jaw, brushing his human hand against the book that lay forgotten next to his side. Nel's outburst, based on her pretentious assumptions, had really managed to make him angry. He wasn't as ignorant as this woman thought him to be, and he somewhat _cared_ about the fate of his country, but he would be damned before she heard any sort of a tearful, patriotic speech from him, the sort of which _she_ had been always fond of giving.

"You know…" Nel was the first one to break the silence, "For you it may be only a temporary mission, reason of state at best, but for me… it's also personal. I've known Lady Rozaria since childhood, and she's been my friend for the past few years. I don't want her to get hurt… because it's _her_, not just an important political figure."

There was a long pause before Albel spoke, his lips twisted into a humorless smile. "Bah." Friendship was a sentiment almost entirely lost on him; he couldn't sympathize and there was no reason for Nel to bring it up all of a sudden, unless she had been talking out loud to herself. "I heard she's looking forward to her wedding ceremony, not because she yearns to become a queen so much, but because she's somehow attracted to her bridegroom-to-be." Nel didn't reply, so the swordsman went on, sounding even more sarcastic with each spoken word.

"Even if it were true," –his voice clearly suggested that he didn't deem it a possibility– "it's still a political marriage. Your pretty and well-born 'friend' was probably never given a chance to refuse. The only two people who had any real say in this were Arzei and that queen of yours."

Nel clenched her teeth at the disrespectful form of address, but she let it slide, saving the scolding and the inevitable quarrel for later. The true point of Albel's speech was clear, and it wasn't about Rozaria at all. He had been talking about those dissatisfied with the rulers' choice, the potential traitors on both sides of the border. About himself? Had His Majesty ever discussed his decision with the Glyphian nobles _before_ it was made, or had he just presented them with a fait accompli? All evidence pointed to the second option, and in that case, Nel could understand the lords' displeasure. Albel wasn't like them, however. He openly admitted that he didn't give a damn about politics—though it was a huge mistake on his part, seeing how it had cost him his freedom only half a year ago. He didn't have a little daughter, whose chance of marrying the king was suddenly gone… Nel paused at the idea, trying to imagine Albel as a father and failing miserably. He would first have to find a woman foolish enough to bear his children—not a chance in the whole damn universe, as far as she was concerned—

Wait a second. Had she just caught him gazing at her cleavage…? Nel shuddered, deciding that she must have been imagining things. And back to the matter at hand, she wondered, what _could_ Albel lose now, because of his king's choice, except perhaps for his good humor, which he didn't even have in the first place?

"You're right, of course, but does it make you feel bitter towards them?" she pressed without a second thought. "Our whole peace treaty aside, do you believe that His Majesty should've married someone else?"

He stared at her incredulously through a curtain of black and blonde hair. "For hell's sake, woman, you ask me this question _now_, after everything we've talked about for the past fifteen minutes…?"

"It hasn't even crossed my mind to doubt your loyalty towards His Majesty," Nel replied dryly, unsurprised with the man's reaction. "I'm quite certain you would've never betrayed the king for such a reason, even if he chose to marry a nameless beggar from the streets of Peterny. I'm merely asking for your personal feelings–" …_as a friend_, she wanted to finish, but bit her tongue quick enough. They weren't _friends_, no matter what one might have assumed from their present, semi-civil conversation. They just happened to be two former enemies brought together by an extraordinary experience, which they couldn't even retell to any living soul in the world. They had learnt things about each other that they wished they had never known in the first place. It had changed their perspective somewhat, but no, it didn't make them _friends_.

"You've just answered your own question, then." Albel's eyes had narrowed back into slits. "I'll support the king's decision, and my feelings have nothing to do with it." Well, he was being honest here. No matter how much he couldn't stand the bland priestess, he would never criticize Arzei's decision in public—not because he was afraid to speak his mind, but because he knew his support was, in fact, needed.

"I guess that's fine with me," Nel sighed and leant back against the bench.

"Why, thank you," he mocked. "By the way, don't tell me _you_ are happy with your precious, little 'friend' leaving this place forever, to stay among us _barbarians_, only because it was decided for her." He spoke each word with cruel deliberation, enjoying the startled, and then possibly hurt look on Nel's face.

He had fully expected her to get angry, not to reply the way she did. It was almost enough to make him feel uneasy when their eyes met.

"First of all," Nel said, as somber as if she were attending a funeral ceremony, "Lady Rozaria is your future queen, not to be belittled so casually. And to answer your question – it's true I wish I didn't have to part with her, but at the same time I know she is happy to leave. The fact that you don't believe in things like love doesn't mean that they don't exist. Try keeping this in mind during your journey, _Albel_." Having finished her little moralizing speech, the Aquarian spy stood up to bid her companion an equally serious goodbye.

The swordsman watched her leave through a pair of narrowed eyes. Love between the two, what utter nonsense. He hadn't heard a bigger pile of rubbish in a long time. The priestess had never had a chance to meet her future husband properly. She could have talked to him on but a few occasions: at the engagement ceremony three months ago, and perhaps a couple of years back, when Arzei had been studying at Aquios, though at that time the girl must have been only ten or eleven. Given these circumstances, Nel's preaching about any sort of affection sounded downright ridiculous. After all, how could you _love_ someone you barely even knew? Someone who had used to be your enemy only a short while ago?

Albel would have laughed out loud at the thought, if he hadn't been rather preoccupied with watching Nel's retreating figure. He could swear there was something captivating in the way her long dress swelled around her hips.

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End of Chapter One

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Author's Notes: Thanks in advance for all your reviews, should there be any. :) In any case, I swear that my current fascination with _Xenosaga_ won't prevent me from updating this fic in the near future. :)


	2. A Friendly Reunion?

Author's Notes: Hello and welcome to the second installment of my story, which happens to be a flashback, of all things… though it's not as completely random as it might seem at first glance. :) BlueTrillium helped me to rid this chapter of typos and other mistakes, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

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Chapter Two

––––––––––Six days earlier––––––––––

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Albel soon discovered how difficult it was to keep his expression neutral, or at least not openly hostile, as the small column of Glyphians under his command moved at a snail's pace through the cobbled streets of Aquios. Hot, northern sun shone down on the unfortunate knights, unaccustomed to the local climate and locked in thick cages of black metal. Their young captain, who had shamelessly ditched his ceremonial armor for a set of civilian robes, had almost found himself pitying his own squad. Almost. Even though the heat didn't bother him as much as it did everyone else, the city was still filled with plenty of things capable of irking his nerves beyond measure.

The crowds on both sides of the road rippled and buzzed like a giant nest of hornets. Hundreds of people had gathered outside to watch the Glyphians pass through the streets of their hometown, and there was no small amount of heads poking through the buildings' upper windows. The spectators filled the air with a cacophony of voices. They kept pointing their fingers at the foreign riders, discussing every single detail they were able to spot, exchanging remarks colored with various shades of fear, contempt, awe and plain curiosity.

Albel could deal with the staring just fine, but he found the noise to be unbearable. Lots of Aquarians had apparently decided to leave the old animosities behind, and they cheered at the top of their lungs, blessing the future royal couple. Some tried to raise hostile shouts, but they were quickly pacified by the local guards, who knew how to use their spears. Little children, blissfully oblivious of the atrocities associated with the recent war, squealed in delight at the sight of colorful pennants and the knights' impressive armor. Many bawled their eyes out when they lost their parents among the rabble.

Some Aquarian, mercifully hidden from view by the crowd—_mercifully_, because Albel swore he would later hunt the man down and rip his tongue out if only he could _see_ his damn face—was singing and blowing a trumpet by turns, unbothered by the complete lack of musical skills on his part. He quickly fell silent, though, perhaps strangled by his own compatriots.

Albel was just about to give his thanks to the nonexistent gods for having mercy on him and gagging the trumpeter, when a small girl in the front row screeched: "Mama, lummy!" in a voice so loud and piercing that the captain's mount shied and tried to leap away. With a considerable effort, the rider managed to pull the reins in time. He grated his teeth and leant forward to pat the animal's neck in a calming gesture, trying to calm _himself_ down, as well. Fortunately for the child and her mother, he didn't see fit to turn around in the saddle and grace them both with a scathing glare.

"Everything alright, captain?"

Albel would have almost missed this quiet inquiry, hardly audible over the ruckus made by the merry bunch of surrounding maggots. He turned his head to the left to glower at the speaker, the only Glyphian beside him who didn't wear a full plate on this ridiculously hot day. It was Zarte Hourles, the king's so-called special emissary.

"I'm fine," he spat in return, unsure if the man had been sympathizing or mocking him; he would have none of either. "Mind your own business."

"I meant no disrespect." Zarte acknowledged the previous, snappy remark with a mere shrug that looked neither offended nor apologetic—and as usual, Albel found himself unable to read the man.

Zarte's outer appearance could serve as the model illustration of a village idiot. He was a huge, bulky man with heavy-lidded eyes, short hair and dull, unintelligent features. He seemed capable of lifting a loaded wagon with one hand, yet unable to count to ten, even with the help of his fingers.

In reality, the king's emissary was a lot smarter than he let on. The convincing façade of a dim-witted brute seemed no more than just a decoy, it hid an intelligent man with a keen sense of observation. Albel had already learned that much during their journey from Airyglyph to Aquios, even though the two men had managed to exchange barely a few words with each other, many of them following the impersonal lines of 'we leave early tomorrow', or 'pass me that bottle'. Albel appreciated the fact that Zarte kept his distance most of the time, seemingly uninterested in striking up a close friendship with him, and he tried to return the favor by acting less ill-mannered than usual, at least whenever he remembered to. Still, he found the emissary's mere presence fairly irritating. He wasn't sure how to interpret this extra company, because he wasn't so blind as to miss a spy when he saw one. So far, he had followed Arzei's suggestion and ignored the man, who, on his part, had done his best not to undermine Albel's authority and follow his command without protest, even if his status among the other riders remained questionable. The young captain wasn't sure whether Zarte accompanied him to keep an eye on the Aquarians, or to monitor the Black Brigade's actions.

The final suspicion hurt a bit, though of course he was far from registering the feeling, even in the privacy of his own mind. He hoped he had already regained the king's trust, at least to the extent where he would no longer require a damn guardian spirit constantly breathing down his neck—or a bulky, good-for-nothing helper, for that matter.

"Pardon me for pointing it out, Lord Nox, but the frown you're wearing doesn't exactly suit the occasion," Zarte observed after a moment, his lackluster eyes seemingly fixed on the growing palace walls in front of them.

Albel stirred, realizing he must have been staring at the emissary for more than just a few seconds. He swore under his breath, tore his gaze away and straightened himself in the saddle, once again turning his attention to the road ahead. "What would you have me do, _wave_ at the crowd?" he shot back sarcastically. "With my claw, perhaps?" Bah, that final thought didn't actually sound too bad. Perhaps he could cause panic among the spectators, which might provide him with some amusement, after all.

Zarte shook his head. "I suggest no such thing, but an occasional smile would be nice."

"Do the smiling yourself if you're so hell-bent on pleasing these worms. I'll be smiling aplenty on my way out of this town, and not a day sooner."

"It's a much warmer welcome than we could've hoped for, captain."

"Yeah, and the only thing that's missing here today is perhaps a procession of scantily-clad maidens, strewing our path with rose petals." Albel resisted the urge to spit at the ground. "Who needs such a blatant farce? Half of these people are just too dumb to escape the mass-hysteria, and the other half would have gladly spat in our faces or worse, if only any of them dared to."

"Crudely put, yet perhaps true," the other man agreed. "Still, there's no need to feel ill at ease. We're the honorable guests of Her Royal Majesty, and the laws of hospitality are sacred in this land. No one will do so much as look wrong at us."

Albel shrugged. "Do you honestly think I _care_? I'm not feeling ill at ease, either. I'd just have this circus act done and over with."

"Your wish shall be granted soon, we're nearly at the front gates," Zarte noted, then fell silent for a longer moment, as if contemplating the back of his lum's neck. As they were passing the first keep belonging to the palace, he spoke again, "Half a year ago, I reckon, not even the oracles could've predicted such a surprising turn of events. You must've surely imagined riding these streets as a conqueror, at least once."

"When we were still in the midst of war, you mean?" Albel's lips curled up, twisting his expression into a derisive smile. "No. People must have told you, I'm a man of very limited imagination. I was concentrating on winning battles and organizing supplies, instead of bothering myself with such rubbish."

The young knight had no illusions concerning the extent of his vanity, and yet the wry declaration sounded true even to his own years. Life had already taught him not to sell the dragon's hide before the dragon was caught—an old proverb that had a more literal meaning in his case, too. The lesson had been served nearly ten years ago, leaving a burning scar upon his heart, which was unlikely to fade in time.

* * *

Nel stood among a small group of scholars, runologists and high-ranked servants who watched the Glyphians from a side balcony that faced the main palace yard. Unlike the lower classes of Aquios, easily thrilled by any event that broke the monotony of their everyday lives, these people didn't seem too excited with the riders' arrival. Only a few younger women pushed themselves close to the railing, in order to get a better view of the scene below.

"I can't believe they were allowed to ride into the town like that, fully armed and almost ready for battle," said a newly graduated runologist who stopped right in front of Nel. "Just look at their faces! I expected to see some humiliation there, but no, they all seem so stoic and proud of themselves!"

"It doesn't matter, Remada," another, taller spectator replied, without tearing her gaze away from the knights. "Everyone knows they lost the war—_they_ know it, too. I'm pretty sure many of them are feeling rather uncomfortable at the moment."

"Well, I would _hope_ so…"

"I know what you mean," the tall woman spoke, "but don't forget that Her Majesty expects us to give them a warm welcome."

"I'd rather not go anywhere near them," Remada announced, pausing to lean a bit over the railing. In a quieter voice, she added, "They do look kind of attractive in this armor, though. Quite different from our pathetic boys with their hesitant glances and their complexes–"

"I insist you take that final comment back, young lady!" a new, booming voice cut in.

"Sir Adray! I wasn't talking about _you_, of course!"

As the woman in front of Nel continued to apologize (in a slightly teasing tone, because Adray's reproach hadn't sounded genuinely angry), the Crimson Blade felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder, followed by a gentle squeeze. She twisted her neck to see Clair's father smile down at her; she returned the friendly grin as well as she could, even if the man's proximity was filling her with an inexplicable sense of dread. The crowded balcony was giving the older runologist a perfect excuse; nevertheless, Nel didn't like the idea of having her back pressed against the man's bare chest.

"It's a good thing they rode through the streets like that," Adray said at last, turning his attention back to the other woman, who had already resumed watching the Glyphians come to a halt just before the main gate. "At least it'll give the townsfolk the impression that we'll be leaving our priestess in good hands. Isn't that right, Nel?"

"It is," she agreed matter-of-factly.

Some fifty yards away, Albel was just giving his subordinates a brief speech, his voice too low to reach the spectators' ears. Nel observed the scene with mild interest; she knew it was nothing but a standard set of orders passed among the men. Something else caught her notice, instead. Perhaps it was only the sun playing tricks on her eyes, yet the color of the captain's hair seemed a bit lighter than she had remembered.

Apparently, Adray must have seen it, too. "May I be damned," Nel heard him murmur in a hushed tone, "that lad's starting to look more and more like his father." She almost wished the man to elaborate, but her train of thought was once again interrupted by the runologists in the front row.

"So, which one of them is the infamous Wicked One?" Remada asked.

"That huge man with short hair and fists the size of your head, perhaps? He sure gives me the creeps… I'm surprised his lum won't snap in two under his weight."

Remada hesitated at her friend's guess. "Well, I don't know… He's not wearing any sort of insignia and he doesn't look like a knight to me… Maybe it's that tall brute in a suit of armor who's been riding at the head of the column? See, the one who's speaking right now? He seems wicked enough, with that ugly scar right above his eye…"

No matter how hard she gazed at the scarred Glyphian, Nel couldn't find anything wrong, let alone 'wicked' about his stature and facial expression, just as she couldn't suppress a smile at the runologists' inaccurate speculations. She was already opening her mouth to correct the two women, when Adray beat her to it.

"No, no, my dear ladies, you've got it all wrong," the graying warrior managed between barks of loud, throaty laughter. "Albel Nox is that lad to the left, who was speaking only a short while ago."

"No way! _That_ handsome fellow is actually Albel the Wicked?"

"The very same."

"I would've never guessed it myself, either." Remada's friend sounded less surprised, yet some disbelieving tones had also crept into her words. "When I first saw him, I assumed he was just another one of the Glyphian courtiers. Why isn't he wearing any armor?"

"Oh _please_, I'm going to be sick," Nel muttered under her breath, too quiet to be heard by anyone in the crowd. These two, she thought, so captivated by Albel's looks, had obviously never seen him splattered with blood, laughing manically, or spitting obscenities at innocent people.

She shook her head at the women's naivety, and then turned her gaze back to the yard, where the knights were currently dismounting from their lums. For those who didn't know better, Albel could really appear somewhat harmless, especially compared with the armored, broad-shouldered men who surrounded him. He wore a black and purple tunic, embroidered with silver lilies in a few places, most probably the crest of his family. His long hair was pulled into a single ponytail that lay neatly against his back. The Crimson Scourge, hidden in its ornate sheath, looked like a pretty, ceremonial weapon, rather than the deadly relic Nel knew it to be… but even if it hadn't been for the sword, Albel was perfectly capable of disemboweling half of the onlookers with his left hand, currently hidden from view by the tunic's broad sleeve.

_So much for appearances_, Nel thought, feeling her lips curl up into a dry smile. The only hint that could give a bunch of ignorant viewers some clues concerning the knight's identity was the angry scowl on his face. Albel looked quite unhappy to be here, not that it surprised the younger woman in any way. She wasn't going to pity him, though.

Another pat on the back from Adray pulled her from her musings; she nearly stumbled forward under the force of that hearty blow. "Come, Nel, why don't we go downstairs to greet our friend properly?"

"He's not my friend, Adray, and I don't think he considers himself _your_ friend, either," she pointed out flatly, turning around to face the other warrior. "If you even try to pat him like this in front of all these people, he'll kill you on the spot. Our peace treaty will go to hell and it will be partially _your_ fault."

"I'll keep that in mind," Adray replied with a toothy grin. "Now, aren't you coming? If we hurry, we may still be able to slip into the throne chamber."

Nel narrowed her eyes and shot without hesitation, "Are you sure you're properly dressed for the occasion?"

The cheeky comment earned her a new round of laughter and a gentle flick to her nose. "Don't be so smart with me, little girl."

"I _mean_ it, Adray. Magistrate Lasselle will have an apoplexy attack if he sees you half-naked among the nobles."

"Nonsense!" the runologist beamed cheerfully. "Let's go!"

Nel wasn't too certain whether she _really_ needed to squeeze into an even bigger crowd just to watch Albel exchange a few strained pleasantries with Her Majesty, but once Adray's mind was set on something, the man became unstoppable. Stifling an exasperated sigh, she allowed the warrior to grab her hand and pull her out of the balcony.

* * *

Predictably enough, the throne chamber was swarming with people. This was a formal and rather unique event, after all. Nearly everyone who had at least some influence at the court had gathered inside, while warriors of lower rank, commoners and servants crowded next to the entrance.

Nel suspected that the assembly had been much bigger during the engagement ceremony three months ago. Of course, she would never know it for sure. She had been absent at that time; as far away from her hometown as possible, still fighting against the vile creatures that had been sent to annihilate their entire universe. However, no matter how drastic the situation had seemed back then, at least from her perspective, the life on Elicoor had been running its normal course all along. The war had ended the moment the Vendeeni ships had been defeated, leaving behind two exhausted countries that had badly needed some sort of stabilization. The peace treaty had had to be signed immediately. Neither ruler could have waited for a couple of misplaced subjects, even as important as the Crimson Blade herself.

Nel lost Adray about fifteen seconds after entering the chamber, not that it bothered her much. She wasted no time making good use of her rank, and occasionally her elbows, in order to push her way into the front row. When she finally arrived there, unceremoniously squeezing herself between a pair of hissing, protesting nobles, the audience was already in progress.

She had expected to see a similar scene, and yet she still found it more than just slightly awkward: Albel crouching on one knee in front of the queen, the perfect picture of court etiquette. Had she _ever_ seen him bow to his own king, let alone so low? The captain didn't keep his head down—he didn't have to, anyway—but his pose was no doubt respectful. He went through a long list of official greetings in an even tone, with a stoic expression on his face.

Nel knew him well enough to realize that he was probably seething inside, clenching his teeth to maintain the desired spectacle. She didn't even want to imagine _what_ sort of creative threats King Airyglyph or Count Woltar had used to force the knight to behave, but she suspected that they must have dragged out some _heavy_ arguments, indeed. At least their effort wasn't going to waste: to the most people in the chamber, Albel appeared to be nothing more than a pretty-looking, well-mannered, albeit a tiny bit impatient nobleman. He surely wasn't living up to the terrible reputation surrounding his name—not from the crowd's perspective.

Once again, Nel suppressed a sigh. If only they could have seen him on the battlefield, as she had, grinning like a madman as he cut his enemies to pieces, they wouldn't be flocking around the double doors right now.

The meeting proceeded smoothly, without any incidents, until the queen decided to end the official part and invite the captain to a private audience, where they finally would be able to have an actual conversation, instead of exchanging a set of prefabricated pleasantries. While there was surely nothing strange or unexpected about this request, Nel immediately saw the tricky part of it. Albel would not be allowed to enter the royal chambers armed. It wasn't as if the queen didn't trust him, it was just a matter of diplomatic rules… but asking Albel to part with his sword, especially _that_ sword, was a close equivalent of teasing a scorpion, and indeed, the young captain tensed like a reptile ready to strike. Fortunately, he still had enough self-control to hold his tongue in check, as one of the palace guards moved forward to take the weapon.

Nel hesitated only for a brief moment, and then, without thinking too much, she stepped out the crowd to stride towards the Glyphian. She knew she was violating protocol with her actions—and not too soon after she had berated Adray about it—but earning herself a hundred of confused stares was better than waiting for the hostility to erupt, or having the poor guard lose his mind as a result of touching the sword's handle.

She passed the bewildered watchman and walked right up to Albel, who also seemed a bit surprised with the sudden turn of events, even though his face remained impressively blank… for him, anyway.

"_Nel?_" he hissed quietly when she was already very close. "_What the hell are you doing?_"

In a much louder tone, audible not only to the man in front of her, but also to the gathered audience, Nel replied, "Sir Albel, I will take care of your sword while you speak with Her Majesty."

Albel blinked at her, wordlessly processing the offer, then snickered under his breath. "_I _was_ going to warn that maggot, you know_," he muttered. Aloud, he said, "Very well. Of course, you know what'll happen if you try to pull it out of its sheath, don't you?"

"_I couldn't be too sure_," she replied briskly. And in a clear voice, with a serious nod: "I do. Don't worry, the Crimson Scourge will be in good hands."

"I hope so," the knight's eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. There was a short moment of silence, and finally, he handed her the sword, smirking. "_Enjoy it, fool, because it's going to be the only time when I'm surrendering you my weapon._"

"_Want to bet on that one?_" Another pause. "I shall meet you right after the audience," she said, curling her fingers around the golden scabbard.

"I assure you I'm looking forward to it."

Nel didn't think twice before returning the nasty smile. "_…I know you are. It's nice to see you too, Albel._"

* * *

End of Chapter Two

* * *

Author's Notes: Heh, aren't these two just _lovely_ together, even when they're sort of leaping at each other's throats? ;) They still have a long way to go before they can become true friends, let alone lovers… but they'll get there eventually, I swear. :)

Mhm, I want to reassure you that I'll be continuing this story no matter what, though of course I'm counting on some feedback as means to motivate me to work faster. The third chapter is almost finished by now, anyway, so it should be posted quite soon. Stay tuned for a real continuation of Albel and Nel's adventure—and in the meantime, please review! :)


	3. Adray the Matchmaker

Author's Notes: BlueTrillium, thanks yet again for proofreading this chapter and helping me deal with a few occasional doubts concerning the canon. :)

Oh, man. It's going to be a long read, but hopefully not too boring. ;)

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

Albel's carefree, self-confident attitude remained quite intact even after his unnerving conversation with Nel. The young captain felt no need to ponder on imaginary threats and shadowy foes. If a plot to eliminate the bride truly did exist, like the Aquarian spy had insisted, the traitors would turn up to face him sooner or later… or sneak up behind him, perhaps, not that it made any significant difference. Albel would get rid of them when the time came. It was as simple as that, really.

It took him less than half an hour to return to the palace and change into something less noble-esque, yet far more wearable. He hoped nobody expected him to dress like a stuck-up fool outside the royal complex, because he sure as hell wasn't going to make a fashion show of himself in the streets of Aquios. A clean, linen tunic would have to suffice.

He felt a little bit better already, now that the long day was finally coming to an end. Dusk was still a few hours away and the sun beat down without mercy, but the stretched shadows on the ground appeared quite promising. The evening, hopefully washed down with plenty of wine, would pass quickly, bringing him one step closer to the much sought-after departure.

The knight unhurriedly fastened his belt, making sure that the Crimson Scourge hung neatly against his hip, and finally went back to the gardens. He marched towards the nearest gate (called the Swan Gate or something equally fancy; yet another sign of his hosts' pompous stupidity), which connected the western wing of the palace with a hard road that led straight towards the market square. Albel remembered riding that very road barely a week ago. What an annoying ordeal that had been, he thought, his lips twisting into a sour grimace. Worse still, he doubted if his glorious departure at the bride's side would look any different. The Aquarians would surely insist on putting on another show of goodwill and national unity.

Today the area was quiet, filled with a narrow range of most trivial sounds: the birds' singing, murmuring water, rattling wheels, the unobtrusive hubbub of the town that spread below the castle grounds. Unfortunately, Albel's good mood was short-lived. As luck, or rather the lack thereof would have it, the moment he set foot outside the royal gardens, he stumbled upon one of his least favorite people in the whole kingdom: no other than Adray Lasbard.

The eccentric warrior stood to the side of the road, engaged in a lively exchange with a pair of young women. They both looked the part of lower-rank runologists, from the simple cotton robes they wore to some colorful tattoos winding around their necks and down their spines. The shorter one had a few extra lines creeping up her cheek, as well, which created a rather interesting visual effect, perhaps even worth a second glance. Adray's eyes seemed to be glued to a different strategic spot, though, half an ell below the girl's face.

One glance at these people's postures and their not-so-subtle gestures, and Albel could easily guess what the whole conversation was about. While there was nothing surprising in seeing an almost sixty-year-old man trying to court girls that seemed to be his own daughter's age at best, the Glyphian captain found himself slightly amazed with the way these women reacted to the runologist's light-hearted advances. Instead of ignoring the graying fool, or finding themselves a convenient excuse to flee, the girls chatted with him amiably, and none of them looked ill at ease. With some effort, Albel could at least fathom why someone would still consider Adray physically attractive. The man had no inhibitions about showing off his tanned body, and his finely chiseled chest could put many youngsters to shame. What Albel _didn't_ understand was how the hell these girls—or any other people, for that matter—were able to withstand Adray's booming laughter, his nosy remarks, his whole infuriating personality.

Of course, he admitted, it was really none of his concern. Lasbard could bore to death or seduce the whole female population of Aquios, for all he cared. The only thing that interested Albel at the moment was how to sneak past the man completely unnoticed. He thought that the three runologists were so immersed in their conversation that they wouldn't pay any attention to a random passer-by, but it soon turned out that he had yet again underestimated Adray's uncanny ability to butt into his life at every possible occasion.

The elderly warrior noticed him without fail, pausing in the middle of whatever he had been saying only a moment ago, turning around to utter his loud greetings. Albel cringed, yet stopped obediently to grumble something semi-respectful in reply. Whether he liked it or not, Adray had used to be one of his father's friends. It obliged him to show at least _some_ courteousness when it was necessary, and would have made walking past the old man with a mere shrug seem awfully rude, even for him.

"What a pleasant surprise! I'm glad I was finally able to catch you," Adray went on smoothly, just before the unfortunate captain could excuse himself and continue down the street. "I had a feeling you've been avoiding me for the whole week." Quite an accurate feeling, as far as Albel was concerned. "Say, are you headed into the town?"

"Perhaps." The laconic answer was meant to discourage the runologist, but it obviously failed its purpose. Adray's delight didn't waver.

"Surely, you wouldn't mind stopping by a nice tavern?"

Albel stiffened, hoping against hope that the babbling fool wouldn't try to join him, let alone insist on taking these two women with them. Such an entourage was the last thing he needed right now. "What does it matter to you, old man?"

"It's not healthy to drink alone." The Aquarian flashed him a toothy grin, so _sympathetic_ it made Albel's skin crawl. "If you asked me, I'd say you could use some company. You're too uptight for a boy your age."

"Nobody asked you, though," Albel replied flatly, his patience already running out, along with the small amount of politeness he might have initially possessed.

"It's still true," Adray beamed, dismissing the offence with startling ease. "What's wrong with spending a pleasant evening in a friend's presence?" Albel didn't even try to correct the man's ridiculous choice of words. He knew it was useless. "So? Where do you want to go?"

"'The Mighty Griffon'," he named the first tavern that came to his mind, making a mental note to avoid that place later at all costs.

"That overpriced hash house in the main street? They serve nothing but lum piss in there," Adray announced cheerfully, completely unbothered by the ladies' presence. "C'mon, lad, I'll show you to the best tavern in the whole city."

"Why don't you tell me its name and I'll find the directions myself?"

"Tch, don't be like that." Just this once, the graying runologist managed to look at least mildly exasperated. "I'd like to talk to you a little, that's all. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. Shall we go?"

Adray's perception of 'important' was a bit different from what other people usually understood by that term, but who knew, maybe this time he really meant serious business? Or did he perhaps want to nag Albel about the priestess' safety, the way Nel did only a short while ago? The young knight clenched his teeth and weighed his options. Talking Adray out of his ridiculous idea was _possible_, of course, but the whole endeavor promised only a small chance of success and would surely turn out quite time-consuming. His good humor would be wasted, anyway. So much for having the evening pass quickly…

"As you wish," he said at last, surrendering to the inevitable.

"That's the answer I wanted to hear," Adray replied merrily, acting as if he couldn't even see the Glyphian's sour grimace. He turned to the two younger women to say his goodbyes. The girls pretended to be inconsolable over the loss of their companion.

Albel folded his arms across his chest, careful not to rip his clothes with the steel fingers of his gauntlet, and waited for the foolery to end. Just when he was certain that Adray was done and that they could finally proceed to get themselves something to drink, the girl to the left, the shorter of the two, stepped forward to address him, earning herself a surprised glance from her female friend.

"Sir Nox? I don't think we've been properly acquainted yet," she spoke boldly, tilting her head to the side. She looked about eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, the lowest age to become a full-fledged runologist, as far as he was concerned. The tattoo decorating her face was her most interesting feature; otherwise she seemed quite plain with her boyish hips, dark hair and irises that only pretended to be red in this light, yet must have been brown, instead, because red was a pretty rare eye color even among the Aquarians. "I'm Fella Eid."

Truth be told, Albel wasn't used to such straightforwardness, and the girl's behavior almost surprised him. In Airyglyph, everyone would think twice before speaking to him in a similar manner. Most Aquarian worms feared him just as much, he knew, hardly ever addressing him of their own free will, even though, unlike his compatriots, they could base their fear only on a bunch of rumors, rather than on actual, first-hand _experience_.

Albel made an effort to unfold his arms and give the runologist the closest thing to a bow he could manage, which was no more than a slight nod of his head. He decided not to waste his breath on any ridiculous niceties; he simply waited for the Aquarian to say her piece and leave him alone.

"Sir Nox, for how many more days will you be staying in Aquios?" the woman asked after a brief pause, as soon as she realized that the swordsman wouldn't reply unless she prompted him further.

The question seemed perfectly innocent—banal, in fact—and yet Albel hesitated, unsure how to interpret the tone, which had sounded more calculating than polite. Was he supposed to admire the girl's guts? Did she mean to tell him that he was an unwelcome visitor in her holy capital, that she wanted him outside the gates as soon as possible?

"It depends on how long Lady Rozaria's servants will dawdle over their tasks." It almost pained him to refer to the priestess in such a respectful fashion. "I hope they won't need more than a day or two—why?"

"Oh, I was just curious." The small runologist didn't drop her gaze. "If you are leaving soon, then there's all the more reason to enjoy the final days of your stay in our city, don't you think?" Albel's eyebrows rose slightly, he was still unsure about the direction in which this ridiculous chatter was going. The woman continued without a pause, "Did you just come from the royal gardens? They're lovely at this time of the year, aren't they?"

"Yes. Whatever." The man's reply carried his usual—far from impressive—level of charisma.

It still didn't deter the Aquarian. Leaning forward, she said, "There's one particular spot in the gardens that I like the most: a bower located close to the western wall. Hidden among the trees, yet you can't really miss it. It's just across the stream that runs along the wall, so you need to pass a small bridge first. I often come to that place at midnight when I want to listen to a nightingale's song," she finished.

The older woman threw her companion a shocked look. Adray Lasbard chuckled openly, and Albel blinked.

Poetic euphemisms had never been his strong suit, but damn, he wasn't so dense as to miss a clear invitation to a tryst when he heard one. He was surprised with both the runologist's confidence and the suggestion itself, although he did pause to consider it—hell, he supposed only a dead man _wouldn't_. The possibility of spending the night with a woman was tempting, for obvious reasons, but he was not _that_ desperate, ready to humor some Aquarian wench who didn't even happen to be his type; too skinny and too flat-chested, among other things. Why had she made such an offer in the first place, he wondered—out of curiosity, to see what it meant to make love to a man who went by the label of a wicked monster? Perhaps to be able to brag about it to her friends later? Albel felt a wave of strong dislike at the idea.

The younger woman kept watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He shrugged and smirked down at her, "Brats your age shouldn't stick out their noses out of their rooms past curfew."

Nothing else had to be said at this point; the refusal was blatantly obvious. Albel didn't wait for the woman's indignant retort, should she even find the voice to give him one, nor did he bother with bidding his goodbyes. He merely turned on his heel and started to walk down the street, making no effort to check whether Adray remembered to follow him or not. In fact, he found himself hoping that the older man would stay behind—to apologize on his behalf, for example—but unfortunately, it seemed that luck wasn't on his side today. Soon enough, he heard the familiar, irritating sound of Adray's wooden-soled sandals clattering over the cobblestones.

The runologist caught up with him only a few moments later. "Now, now," he began in a mildly patronizing tone, as the two of them continued to stroll, arm in arm, towards the marketplace. "I believe there was no need to act so unkindly towards the young lady."

"She should be called a harlot, at least according to Glyphian standards," Albel observed dryly.

"Dear lad," the other man laughed, "I'll have you know that I was fortunate to meet _quite_ a few Glyphian girls in my youth, and I don't remember even one of them having _any_ reservations whatsoever concerning–"

Albel raised a hand to forestall a detailed, entirely unwanted reminiscence from his companion. "I don't care about your experiences of _that_ sort, old man." _…Or any other, for that matter._ He shrugged. "The point is, they'd hardly ever make such clear-cut offers in public."

"And why is that, I wonder?" the runologist pressed readily, gesturing at the knight to follow him into a narrow, suspicious-looking alley that branched off from the main road. "Can't you see a little hypocrisy in the way men and women play with each other in your country, while it's obvious that they all want the same thing? I don't condone unfaithfulness in marriage, for example, but is there anything indecent in a high-spirited, single girl craving a nice rendezvous under the moon?"

The captain shook his head. _As if it was really about holding hands and the nightingales…_

"I said, whatever," he snorted, unwilling to waste his time on analyzing the numerous cultural differences between Airyglyph and Aquaria. "Wasn't she some holy maiden of Apris, by the way?"

Adray's smile only grew larger. "Contrary to a popular belief circulating among your nation, runologists aren't sworn to chastity." He paused, and then started to laugh. "Heavens forbid! I would've never chosen this profession otherwise!"

Albel grated his teeth. "Spare me the details."

"The truth is," Adray went on, in a slightly less light-hearted manner, "many priestesses who serve in the temple officially decide to live in celibacy, but no one forces them to take those vows. It has to be a conscious, voluntary decision, because you cannot change your mind later, once you've already made such a promise. Apris doesn't tolerate perjurers of any kind—or that's what the religious folk here say, anyway." If one was to judge from the tone, Adray had never been a religious man himself, even before he had discovered the truth behind the gods' existence.

"What about the High Priestess' daughter…?" Albel asked, and instantly wished he had bitten his tongue, instead. It wasn't his place to show interest in such things. Rozaria was Arzei's bride, after all. Like it or not, he'd soon be taking orders from her. The girl's—_the_ _future_ _queen's_—personal affairs were none of his business.

Thankfully, Adray didn't insist on criticizing the inappropriateness of Albel's remark. "Lady Rozaria received a special dispensation from Her Majesty," he said after a brief pause, managing to sound perfectly serious, for a change. "I guess that's everything you… or anyone else, for that matter, should know."

Albel couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride and apologize for his foolish question, he just nodded and kept his silence. He didn't protest when the other warrior, in a rare display of tactful behavior, changed the topic of their discussion to something more trivial and began describing the virtues of each of the local breweries. The lecture continued nearly all the way to the tavern, which turned out to be a dilapidated building rising from the middle of a small square, hidden among a cluster of old tenements. The Glyphian grimaced at the unappealing sight, yet he wordlessly followed his companion through the narrow door.

* * *

'The Green Kobold' might have looked like a seedy shack from the outside, but the young captain forgot his initial reservations the moment he took the first sip of his drink. The caramel-colored lager tasted exactly like good lager should: delicate and not too bitter. Truth be told, Albel had never been very keen on cold beer—the harsh winters at home had taught him to appreciate mulled wine, tea with vodka and other warm beverages—but he was far from being picky, either. He stretched his legs under the table, took another gulp from his mug and grudgingly admitted (not out loud, of course) that the old fool sitting in front of him had a decent taste when it came to these things.

If only he knew how to shut up…

Adray's talkativeness was exasperating, to put it mildly, and it didn't help much that the runologist didn't even seem to mind the obvious lack of attention from his unwilling audience. As soon as the maid who had waited on them was out of the way, he launched into a detailed, grossly exaggerated tale of the time he had been sent to the Northern Islands (more like _exiled_, because his queen had been fed up with him, the Glyphian thought irritably), and then swam across the sea to join Fayt in Surferio. Albel lost the thread somewhere around the episode with a giant shark, followed by a dramatic account of a storm, and yet the other man didn't appear to have noticed. He continued his story between generous bites of pork knuckle and large gulps of beer, paying no heed to his listener's facial expression.

Stifling a lazy yawn, the young captain leant back in his seat. With his sword propped quite visibly against the chair, and his pouch dangling from his hip in a rather tempting fashion, he slowly looked around the darkish, torchlit room, crimson eyes trailing over the other patrons and their weapons. Many people gathered in the tavern were just simple burghers or noisy adolescents—Albel didn't spare any of them a second glance. His gaze stopped only on armed men, men with a certain air of violence around them. Sadly enough, for all the blades and clubs strapped to their belts, none of the Aquarian scum even _resembled_ a passable challenge. Nearly everyone lowered their eyes or averted their heads the moment they noticed Albel's taxing, provocative stare. These few who didn't do so at once still looked pathetically weak for his taste, not even worth standing up from his chair.

The captain sighed and took another sip of his drink; the third mug, so far. He took no pleasure in taunting weak maggots, and it seemed that nobody could provide him with any amusement tonight. Even the local thugs and so-called adventurers seemed reluctant to attack him—surely _not_ because they were familiar with his face, realized that he was, at least for the time being, an emissary protected by the law? Bah, as if he would _ever_ use his diplomatic privilege and call upon the watchmen in case of a scuffle!

Utterly disappointed with the bunch of cowards surrounding him, Albel turned his attention back to the former Crimson Blade. He was certain that the old man's ramblings couldn't get any worse than before, but he was sadly mistaken. After a few quarts of alcohol had settled in Adray's stomach, the runologist began to reminiscence about his past friends, which of course included Glou. Albel, forced to listen about what a great person his father had been, found himself torn between taking out his frustration on the speaker and merely exiting the tavern. Before he had managed to make up his mind, however, Lasbard miraculously fell silent and pushed his empty bowl away.

"Now that we've already eaten, let's get down to business," he announced.

Albel narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He had nearly forgotten that there was supposed to be some sort of a _point_ to this meeting.

"You sure took your time. I was just about to leave," he snorted, although he made no effort to stand up yet. Outside, he noticed, the sun was already setting, transforming the neighborhood into a shadowy labyrinth of empty backstreets and tightly-shut gates.

"Looking back at our earlier conversation today, I can see why that sweet girl was met with such disdain from you," the runologist said seriously, making Albel's suspicion turn into surprise. Why was the senile fool bringing _that_ up again, all of a sudden?

He frowned. "What of it, old man? Is this really so important?"

Adray silenced him with a gesture, and then went on, "You're simply looking for something different, aren't you? A _secure_ relationship, perchance?" Albel blinked—twice. "Why, that's perfectly reasonable! Given your age and your background… you're almost twenty-five now, eh? It's high time, then, to think seriously about stabilizing your life."

It took him a while, but the Black Brigade captain finally remembered how to speak. "What the hell are you talking about?" he growled, a clear warning ringing in his tone. "What I do with my life is none of your business!"

"Be patient and let me finish!" Adray brushed the interruption aside. "You know that I have a daughter, right?"

"Yes, _and_…?" Albel stared at the runologist, the general idea slowly dawning on him—though the suggestion seemed so absurd that he tried to dismiss it straight away.

"You must have met her on several occasions," the Aquarian continued, unperturbed. "Clair is exactly your age, in fact; a beautiful, lovely, young woman. I'm proud to say she inherited my charm and her mother's good looks. Wealthy and intelligent, too; what else could a man need? I'm sure that despite her, ah, somewhat bossy nature, she'll turn out to be a wonderful life companion." There was a brief pause, and the man finished cheerfully, "…We can negotiate the dowry if you wish."

Albel was as silent as the grave, although at the same time his mind was teeming with lots of possible answers, all filled with a wide range of invectives. He could have expected many odd things from Adray, but _this_ was ridiculous–!

"You're either very drunk or completely out of your mind. Or both," he managed to spit out at last.

"No, no, I'm being serious," the graying runologist insisted. "Aren't you at least going to give my offer some consideration? It's not like I expect you to give me a final reply right now. Take your time, think it over–"

"There's no need to think it over, you fool! I'm not interested in marrying her—_at all_!"

"But why not? She's a perfect match, you know…" Adray paused and narrowed his eyes. "Or are you suggesting that she is not?"

Albel felt physically weak all of a sudden, the way he hadn't felt in ages, ready to slide under the table any second now. It was no doubt the overwhelming effect the old fool was having on him, not what little alcohol he had drunk by this point. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to remain upright.

"Look," he spoke at last, when he was fairly certain that he could once again control the tone and volume of his voice, or at least keep himself from snapping at the other man completely. "I don't have anything _in_ _particular_ against your daughter, except perhaps for the fact that I spent the past few months thwarting her battle strategies and slaughtering her troops. Has it even occurred to you that she probably hates my guts, and that marrying me is undoubtedly the very _last_ of her desires… not that I care either way? She'd hate _you_, too, if she learned of your ridiculous offer!" Albel paused and exhaled, in a half-successful attempt to calm himself down. "That's about all I have to say, and I swear that if you ever try to bring this conversation up again–" He swallowed the threat with a great deal of effort, aware that they weren't alone in the tavern, and that offending a fellow nobleman in public just wouldn't do, regardless of the nature of their audience, and the fact that Adray wasn't the type to notice offence even if it was spelt with capital letters and thrown directly into his face.

Gods! He found himself one step short of feeling sympathetic towards that woman, even as he was currently entertaining the idea of strangling her father. Hadn't he heard vague rumors that she wasn't interested in men, anyway? Supposing it was indeed true, didn't Adray know? Or did he purposely choose to disregard it in hopes of prolonging his family line?

"Now, now…" The graying warrior raised his hands in a placatory gesture. "I'm sure Clair doesn't really _hate_ you, besides, the war between our countries is over and should be forgotten as quickly as possible, so there's no need to mention these old resentments…"

"I'm not interested in your daughter, get that through your thick head!"

"Ah, but don't you find her even the slightest bit attractive?" Adray insisted.

"That's totally beside the point."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is!"

Albel stifled a groan as the most recent image of Clair flashed before his eyes: the woman's face schooled into a rigid mask as she greeted him in Arias, on the day he had passed through the town with his soldiers, barely three weeks ago. The customary bows they had exchanged back then looked more like a forced twitch on his, and a mere nod on her part. She was _plenty_ attractive, alright—in the way an icicle may seem pretty on a bright winter day, smooth and glittering in the sunlight—but it didn't make her any more desirable! Let alone a candidate for marriage!

There was a long pause. Adray stared into his beer in thoughtful silence, whereas Albel still struggled to control his temper, overcome with a new sense of dread. He _seriously_ hoped that Woltar had never held similar conversations behind his back, made any such offers in his name. Probably not—Woltar realized that Albel would absolutely _kill_ him if he dared to interfere with his life, right?—but knowing the old coot, everything was possible. The mere thought of it sent chilly shivers down the young man's spine. He decided to seek the count out as soon as he was back home, and openly confront him about the issue.

_To hell with these damn old men and their ways_, he thought angrily, watching Adray down the remains of his beverage in one gulp. So what if arranged marriages had been the only alternative in the times of Lasbard's youth? The world was gradually changing, wasn't it? Parents no longer had the right to organize their children's lives down to the slightest details…

The runologist put his empty mug on the table, and then let out a disarming sigh. He looked a bit crestfallen, but certainly not too shocked with Albel's refusal. The captain figured that it wasn't the first time the old fool tried to have this conversation with someone, and the results must have always been the same. Bah, no wonder, really. Clair might have been a 'great match' from a potential suitor's perspective, yet all her virtues sort of _paled_ in comparison with her father's pushy attitude.

"I see," the Aquarian spoke at last, and Albel was surprised to hear some genuine melancholy in the usually jovial voice. "It's a pity."

"Whatever, old man," he snorted.

"You probably wonder why I was being so insistent about the whole thing." Adray shook his head. "Dear lad, if only you knew how hard it is to be a father sometimes!"

Albel shuddered; this exchange was once again going in a very wrong direction. "Spare me a speech on that, will you?"

The older man didn't seem to have heard the sarcasm. He went on, "Imagine having a precious, unique treasure, like a clear diamond the size of your fist, or better yet, a single, beautiful rose planted in your garden. Wouldn't you do everything in your power to make it grow and to keep it from harm? Wouldn't you like to have everyone else admire it?"

Albel thought he would have never tried pushing something he considered a precious treasure into a stranger's arms, but he kept the remark to himself and reached for his beer, instead. He started to sip at the alcohol, intending to leave the tavern the moment his mug was empty, regardless of whether his interlocutor would also be finished at that point or not.

"–I just want what's best for her, really!" Adray was saying in a passionate manner. "I can't see why she doesn't appreciate my efforts, or keeps scolding me for my meddling. She's not getting any younger each year, is she?"

Albel leant back in his chair and began to consider repeating the entire conversation, word by word, to the Aquarian commander, as soon as he saw her again in Arias. The furious look on her face could turn out to be a just reward for his current torture.

"–So if you change your mind by the time I manage to find a decent husband for her, which I fear may still take me a while, don't hesitate to let me know."

"For the last time, old man," he growled, shaken out of his pleasant daydream that involved a flustered Crimson Blade, Adray and lots of violence, "I'm _not_ going to change my mind!"

The runologist fell silent at that, perhaps noticing the true extent of Albel's exasperation. He beckoned to the nearest maid and ordered them both more beer, even though the younger man still wasn't finished with his present round.

"Enough about my daughter, I suppose," he said after a moment—much to the Glyphian's relief—and then paused to take a sip from the mug that had just been placed in front of him. "I must say, I would've never guessed that you were such a romantic individual."

"What the hell do you mean?" Albel all but sputtered, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits.

"You didn't even pause to consider my offer," the runologist replied lightly. "You want to marry strictly for love, don't you?"

"I don't want to marry at all, you fool!" He somehow resisted the urge to slap his palm against his forehead and slide it down his face. "I've already told you that!"

Adray smacked his lips. "Tsk. That's what you're saying _today_, but you'll soon find yourself changing your mind, trust me. Everyone needs some sort of stabilization in their lives, even you. Oh, come on," he raised a hand to silence the younger man, who was already opening his mouth to curse. "Give me some credit, dear lad. I know what you're thinking right now, about your own independence and so on. My child feels exactly the same way, after all. You consider yourself a leader, a loner, above all social bonds. But this," he pressed seriously, "is not a healthy situation, and like most illnesses, it can be cured… if only the right medicine is found," he finished with a wink. "So, tell me, my friend… what kind of girls are your type?"

Albel didn't know what irritated him more: when Adray acted insane (like a few minutes ago, making an effort to hook him up with his daughter), or when he was trying to be insightful (and failing badly). He realized he himself had to be _very_ drunk, indeed, if he was still willing to put up with this bizarre conversation.

"That's enough, old man." He laid his hands on the table and pushed himself up. "I'm out of here."

"Now, now," Adray frowned at him. "There's no need to lose your temper all of a sudden…"

"I haven't lost my temper, you fool," he let out a pained sigh, reaching for the Crimson Scourge. "I was just going to take a leak."

* * *

Albel didn't feel like crossing the whole backyard to reach the tavern's smelly outhouse. His laziness aside, he decided not to test his slightly imperfect balance on the uneven and poorly illuminated cobblestones. Using the darkness and the other patrons' example as an excuse, the young man melted into the shadow of a nearby wall. The cool, night air sobered him up a bit, though he still had to lift his free hand and lean against the bricks for support, as he proceeded to fertilize the local weeds.

By the time he was finished and trying to wash his hands under a rusty pump, Albel felt much better, definitely much steadier on his own legs. With his stomach full and his mind pleasantly dulled yet no longer spinning, he was almost tempted to find Aquios _bearable_. Adray, he thought, was perhaps the biggest idiot that walked the streets of this town, but at least he knew where to find a decent tavern.

Albel was just debating with himself whether or not he was willing to endure yet another hour of the old man's prattling for a few more mugs of Aquarian first-class beer, when he heard the quiet, unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn, followed by hesitant footsteps. He pricked up his ears, the corners of his lips reflexively curling into a nasty smile. Somebody was making a poor attempt at sneaking up at him, it seemed. Just one person, still about twenty-five feet away, trying to take advantage of the dark, currently deserted yard.

Albel considered splashing his face with water, but quickly decided against it. There was no need to get himself wet without a good reason. He didn't feel very drunk anymore, certainly conscious enough to handle a single thug. He continued to wrestle with the pump as if nothing was amiss, and waited for the enemy to come closer. A moment later, however, the footsteps went silent, and a question rang out:

"You're Albel the Wicked, a-aren't you?"

The Black Brigade captain, who had been readying himself for an unskilled blow aimed at his back, felt a mild stab of disappointment the moment he heard that voice—young and unsteady, most probably belonging to a child. He sighed and straightened himself up, finally turning to face the attacker. A boy no older than fourteen; the youth's expression torn between fear and hatred, his fingers clenched tightly around a sword's handle. The weapon itself, Albel noticed, looked older and more serious than its wielder.

"Yeah, I often go by that name. So?" he inquired casually, wiping his hands against the legs of his pants.

"This means you're the man I've been waiting for!" The boy seemed satisfied, almost relieved with the captain's confirmation, though he couldn't quite control the quiver in his tone, as he demanded, "Draw your sword!"

Albel didn't take well to provocations of _any_ sort. He remembered cutting off people's heads for offences less serious than _this_ ridiculous threat, but those heads had always belonged to adults who had at least known how to hold a weapon properly. His current challenger was unfortunately just a pathetic Aquarian whelp, and despite what people said about the Wicked One's ruthlessness, he was not a child slayer. Of course, he had killed similar brats in the past—when he had been barely a brat himself, too—but that had been different times, the times of war.

He felt no desire to ruin quite a fine evening by getting some blood smeared on his freshly washed clothes. Still, didn't this idiot in front of him realize that once a naked blade was pointed at someone else's throat, a duel was—technically—inevitable? Rules of honor demanded that the insulted noble defended himself, by all means necessary. Albel had every right to kill the attacker, child or not. It wouldn't even land him in trouble with the locals—even if nobody believed him that he had finished the worm in _self-defense_, he was still protected by his emissary status, so the worst thing the city guards could do under these circumstances would be to collect the corpse and wish the Glyphian a peaceful night. They would surely think to inform their queen about the whole incident, however, and Albel would have to deal with the woman's questions, possibly also with Arzei's displeasure, not to mention Nel's anger… Oh, hell. This wasn't really worth it, was it?

Albel's silent musings couldn't have lasted longer than a few seconds. "What's _that_ all about, maggot?" he spoke, narrowing his eyes at the boy. "A suicide wish on your part? Go and hang yourself on your own belt, instead of bothering me." He hoped that the mocking reply would be sufficient to scare the idiot away, but he was mistaken.

"I won't leave this spot until you're dead!" the youth declared passionately, his ashen cheeks a clear contrast to the implied bravery. "Three months ago, you killed my sister at the fields of Aire! I will avenge her, no matter what… Draw your sword, _now_!"

Three months ago, the fields of Aire—the decisive battle between Airyglyph and Aquaria? It took Albel a moment to calculate the facts and process the message. So the snotty whelp wanted revenge—for a fallen soldier, some runologist, perhaps? Did he miss his sister so much that he was willing to join her prematurely in her grave? This wasn't just a chance encounter, after all. By the look of things, the fool must have followed him to this place, and then sat outside for a few hours, gathering his wits to finally issue his challenge. It made him either exceptionally brave, or very, _very_ stupid.

Albel spat on the ground. "Put that stick back into its sheath before I take your threat seriously, kid."

"You _should_ take it seriously–!"

"For the last time, maggot, don't test my patience," he growled, struggling to control his rising irritation. "Move aside, you're standing in my way." Even as he spoke, he began to walk towards the tavern, intending to simply brush past the boy, who remained glued to a spot between the approaching man and the entrance. "If you dare to follow me through that door, or if you'll still here when I leave, I swear I'll rip your guts out."

The youth's hands continued to tremble, but his features were twisted into a mask of pure resolve. Albel had seen that expression before, on and off the battlefield. He couldn't be too certain if the whelp would really give in, let him pass without any additional trouble, and yet he kept his steps light and uncaring. He had already been uncharacteristically lenient towards the fool, offered him a fair opportunity to retreat, and now it was only up to the boy whether he would listen to his inner voice of reason, or not.

The boy was desperate, though; not about to be ignored, or let his long-awaited chance at revenge slip him by. He spun around the moment Albel was walking past him, and then, abandoning all traces of honor, he took a wild swing at the man. Even if he did have some skill with the blade, it was completely absent right now, replaced with a blinding rush of adrenaline.

That was the final straw, of course.

Albel caught the blade with his metal claw, and then effortlessly pulled it out of the startled youth's grasp, throwing it aside. Before the whole situation could even register in the boy's mind, the older man smashed his flesh fist into his jaw, so hard that the victim staggered backwards, instantly losing his balance. Albel didn't use the extra split second to draw his sword, but he couldn't keep himself from kicking the falling whelp in the ribs, with enough force to break at least one or two. Perhaps _that_ would teach the maggot some common sense, he mused dryly, watching the smaller body hit the ground.

The yard was still empty. The whole incident couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, and luckily enough no one had left the tavern in the meantime. The boy hadn't screamed to alarm any of the patrons—a belated testimony to his foolish courage—even though he was currently writhing in agony at the captain's feet, coughing up blood, moaning. Albel gazed at him impassively, aware that the worm's injuries were nowhere near as dangerous as they appeared. He would live and recover, at least, which wasn't something many people who had crossed the Wicked One's path in the past could claim about themselves—mostly because they were no longer able to claim _anything_.

Albel overstepped the shaking body and touched one of the pallid cheeks with the tip of his boot, forcing the whelp to look up, to pay attention. Following the nonverbal command, a pair of tearful, unfocused eyes rose to meet the swordsman's face.

"You truly are an idiot, in more ways than just one," the young captain announced, leaning over the dazzled boy. His voice rang with cold mirth, as he went on, "First of all, you have no skill whatsoever to match your ridiculous threat—it should be quite _painfully_ obvious to you by now. Also, tell me this, maggot: do you realize that I'm visiting the town as an emissary? I could call the guards here, at this very moment, and they'd have you arrested, maybe even executed, all in the name of your queen, simply for _daring_ to attack me." He paused and shook his head. "Vengeance often takes more than just a bit of stupid bravery—which is, however, entirely beside the point in your current situation."

The Aquarian was silent, perhaps overwhelmed by Albel's speech or scared out of his wits, yet most likely too busy gasping for breath to reply. The Black Brigade captain clenched his teeth. The fields of Aire, he thought, the final battle… The battle he had spent in the dungeons, chained to a wall like a dog, cold, exhausted and starving, with nothing better to do than to stare at the pool of his own blood and urine on the ground—while Vox, seated atop his dragon, continued to cut through the enemy, until he finally stumbled across those damn, meddling off-worlders, who took Albel's revenge away from him…

The young man drew a sharp breath, trying to calm himself down, yet to no avail.

"Let me tell you something, worm," he said after a brief pause, his expression twisted into a frightfully contemptuous grimace. The Aquarian youth must have noticed the change; he looked close to fainting. "I didn't even participate in the last battle of Aire, that much I remember for sure. I have no idea who killed your fucking sister, only that it wasn't me—not that I'd give a damn either way." He spat at the cobblestones. "Now, if you still have the strength to do so, maggot, I suggest you just crawl back into your hole and die."

Albel straightened himself up then, without sparing the boy another glance, having resisted the urge to kick the whelp again for good measure. He stared at the tavern door for a moment, and finally decided he had had enough for today. The talking he had done in the past few minutes had made him sober again, and he was certain that he wouldn't be able to withstand more of Adray's drunken babble in this state, neither about the runologist's nubile daughter, nor about Albel's needs when it came to women—hell, especially not about _that_.

He turned on his heel and started to walk back in the direction of the palace, completely unbothered by the people he was leaving in his wake: the elderly warrior without a single word of explanation, and the gasping, crying youth curled on the ground.

* * *

End of Chapter Three

* * *

Author's Notes: I admit I just _love_ writing Adray. He's got a great personality and I find him very attractive – noble profile, graying temples, bare chest and all that – so he'll end up appearing in a larger number of chapters than previously intended. I've already used quite a few derogatory terms to describe him, made him seem more foolish than he actually is, but unfortunately, in this particular story, he will be viewed mostly from Albel and Nel's perspective – and you know what these two youngsters think about him.

As for the final part with the boy… Heh. Needless to say, I don't support any sort of violence against children, but please keep in mind that in the Elicoorian cultural setting a fourteen-year-old is practically considered to be an adult. Still very inexperienced, yes, but perfectly capable of taking responsibility for his own actions. Albel himself wasn't much older when he tried the Accession of the Flame – and of course he didn't finish off his opponent in this chapter despite having the right to do so. Isn't he just full of kindness and infinite mercy? What's a few broken ribs compared to a decapitating blow, for example? ;)

Seriously, though, I couldn't just disregard his awful reputation and turn him into a goody two shoes all of sudden, could I?

I give my thanks to every person who intends to keep reading this story. Please, feed me some reviews and I'll have the next chapter posted in next to no time!


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